Tuesday, 27 May 2025

The Hidden Chapters - 12

 

After the cook left and I gently closed the main door, I paused for a moment to adjust my saree’s pallu carefully over my shoulder. With soft footsteps echoing on the cool tiles, I made my way toward the kitchen, wanting to double-check everything once more before dinner.

I took out three plates and began setting the dining table. With each movement, the soft jingle of my bangles and the delicate chime of my payal added a rhythm to the quiet evening. The saree, draped snugly around me, restricted my steps, so I tucked the pallu at my waist and lifted the pleats slightly, tucking them in for more freedom. The adjustment worked—I could now move more easily as I placed the final dishes on the table.

After making sure everything was just right, I stood still for a moment and took a deep breath, enjoying the warm, comforting aroma of the food. Just then, the doorbell rang. Curious and a little surprised, I walked toward the door without adjusting my saree, wondering who it could be.

As I opened the door, my breath caught for a second. It was Manoj.

We stood there in silence, caught in a moment that felt longer than it was. His eyes searched mine, confused yet intrigued, while I saw a flicker of recognition and surprise dance across his face. It was clear—he hadn’t expected me like this, and neither had I expected him.

A gentle smile found its way to my lips as I stepped aside to welcome him in. "Come in," I said softly, my voice sounding different even to myself—softer, gentler, more intimate, thanks to the spray. I reached out and took his bag, brushing against him briefly before placing it on the sofa.

I came back from the kitchen holding a glass of water on a tray. As I walked slowly toward Manoj, I could feel his eyes on me. He was sitting quietly on the sofa, watching me closely—like he was seeing me in a way he hadn’t before.

When I reached him, I leaned slightly to hand him the glass. In that moment, I noticed his eyes shift. He looked at me—really looked at me. His gaze dropped for just a second. The way I had tucked my saree at the waist made my blue petticoat visible, and my blouse was sitting low, gently outlining the curve of my breast.

He didn’t stare—but he paused. His eyes lingered like he was surprised, maybe even caught off guard. Not in a disrespectful way—it felt more like he was taken by something soft and beautiful, something he hadn’t expected to see in me.

Our eyes met again, and in that moment, there was a quiet spark between us. I could feel my cheeks grow warm. I knew he had noticed, and I knew I had let my guard down without meaning to.

Without saying anything, I gave him a small smile and turned around, walking back to the kitchen. Once I was alone, I let out a soft breath and quickly fixed my saree, covering my breasts properly.

But inside, something had changed. That brief moment—his gaze, the way it made me feel—stayed with me. Something that made my heart flutter which cant be explained, feeling of me accepted as female.

After a few minutes, I returned to the living room. This time, my saree was properly adjusted—the pallu neatly covering my chest, pleats falling in place, but the grace of the look still lingered. Manoj was still sitting quietly, glass in hand, his eyes wandering around the room… but I could sense he was thinking. His silence wasn’t empty—it was full of something unspoken.

Just then, the sound of another door opening caught our attention. Sindhu stepped out of her room, dressed in a fresh salwar kameez. Her hair was loosely tied, and she looked as cheerful and bright as always. She greeted Manoj with her usual warmth.

Hey! When did you come?” she asked, walking over and giving him a light smile.

“Just now,” Manoj replied, his voice calm, though I noticed he didn’t take his eyes off me for long.

Sindhu sat beside him on the sofa, chatting easily. I stayed near the dining table, adjusting a few bowls that didn’t really need adjusting, pretending to be busy—but I could feel his gaze on me again.

I wasn’t trying to get his attention. Every time I turned, I caught his eyes lingering on me, almost like he was lost in thought. Observed for a minute, and his eyes were directly staring at my safety pin which is holding my saree pleats. Immediately I kept my hand and adjusted the pleats again so that safety pin is not visible. Now I realized how difficult is for a lady to protect her modesty.

There was admiration in his gaze… and something deeper. He looked at me like I was someone he was noticing for the very first time, even though we had known each other for long. We both were good friends, but now he is man, and I am woman facing each other.

Sindhu kept talking, unaware of the small glances Manoj kept stealing. I brought over the water jug and filled their glasses. As I leaned slightly to pour water into Manoj’s glass, his fingers brushed against mine. It was light, accidental—but it made me pause.

He looked up at me, his expression soft but intense. My heart skipped a beat.

“Lunch is ready,” I said, my voice lower than usual, eyes avoiding his.

As they came to the table, I watched from the kitchen door. Sindhu, cheerful and talkative. Manoj, quiet but clearly distracted.

He wasn’t listening to her stories—not really. His eyes kept drifting back to me, to the soft folds of my saree, to the way I moved around the kitchen. And I… I wasn’t unaffected either. His quiet gaze felt like a whisper against my skin.

Something was changing between us. Slowly, gently, and neither of us knew where it would lead—but in that moment, it didn’t matter. We were both feeling it. And sometimes, that first unspoken connection says more than words ever could.

Lunch passed in a blur of soft conversation and clinking cutlery. Sindhu chatted most of the time—about work, her upcoming meetings, and some family updates. I smiled and nodded, adding a word or two here and there, but most of my attention was on staying composed.

Manoj was mostly quiet, responding when needed, but I could feel the difference in his energy. His focus wasn’t on the food or the conversation—it was on me. And Sindhu was observing all these with a cornered eye.

I could feel it in the way his eyes followed me as I moved around the table, the way his gaze softened when I served him, and how our fingers brushed again when I passed him the pickle jar. Small, lingering touches that said more than words could.

After lunch, we cleared the table together. Sindhu stood up, checking her phone.

“I have to step out,” she said, slipping her sandals on. “Meeting a business partner nearby. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

I nodded. “Take your time.” She came close to me and gave kiss on my forehead and advised me to take rest as you were tired from yesterday evening and adjusted my blouse as the bra straps were coming out of blouse. She adjusted the blouse and arranged pallu on my shoulder.

She waved at Manoj. “You’re not going anywhere until evening, right?”

Manoj smiled, “No plans. I’ll stay a while.”

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